Since We Last Spoke

by Brenda Rufener

  “Why can’t you tell your dad what your brothers did?” I’d ask, but Henry would shake his head and insist that his father was as trustworthy as the twins and would likely steal the rest of Henry’s money and spend it on beer. Henry took matters into his own hands. He lives in a house of adversaries. If taking the twins’ keys earns him back a moment of power, I don’t blame him one bit.

  Henry doesn’t always fill me in on the details of his life, but they’re not difficult to figure out when he shows up at school with rug burn on his cheekbones or a gash on the bridge of his nose. Henry says that his brothers are angry over the way their lives turned out, and he’s probably right. What I don’t get is why Henry refuses to fight back.

  His brothers don’t argue and then laugh it off the way Cal and I did. Henry can’t tell his father he’s being picked on by the twins, because Henry’s a mountain and his twin brothers are anthills. The sheer difference in size causes Henry’s father to side with the twins. But Henry’s the underdog. It’s two—three if you count Henry’s father—against one. They outnumber him. And Henry refuses to stick up for himself. “They’re my brothers, Max. I won’t hit my brother.”

  When the twins were younger, they used to trap stray cats and cage them up in their backyard without food or water. Henry would show up on my porch in the middle of the night with a patchy-furred bag of bones and ask me if we had milk. We’d sit in the backyard swatting mosquitoes and take turns nursing the stray back to health. I’d listen as Henry shared details of his rescue mission and how he’d snuck out of his trailer to save a caged cat. His brothers quit tormenting cats years ago, but now I fear Henry has become the cat.

  Henry’s too focused on the road, squinting at headlights, to respond to Aggi’s question. “Henry took their keys,” I say. “Long story.”

  Aggi smiles, and I wonder if she’s remembering the times we raced through the woods on foot or in the Jeep, trying to outwit Henry’s brothers.

  “We should drive to the barn,” Aggi says, and we lock eyes. She does remember. “They’ve never found us there before.”

  “You’re brilliant!” Henry shouts, then steadies his voice. “But what about your dad? What about Max’s?”

  Aggi shifts in her seat. “We’re in Jen’s car. We can cut the lights and creep into the barn. Once we’re inside . . .” She exhales.

  She’s worried, and now I am, too. Getting this close to our houses, while we’re together, could be disastrous.

  I drop my head in Aggi’s direction and watch as she types a text message. She catches me staring and peeks out of the corner of her eye. “Letting Umé know where we’ll be,” she whispers.

  I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest. “I never answered your questions,” I whisper back. “And I’d like to.”

  She tilts her head, and I lean so close I can hear her swallow.

  Henry and Jen chat about music, which signals that Henry is relaxing now that we have a plan in place. He’s grinning as Jen describes how Henry reminds her of some character on some show Henry will most certainly have me Google when we’re back at my house late tonight.

  Aggi’s staring at the floorboard now, her hands tucked in her lap as she squeezes her phone. She has yet to respond to my words.

  I sigh and she inhales. Then she blows the air out with force, turns to me, and slaps my leg. I jump.

  “Look. You said we needed to have one last talk. Tonight, right?”

  Did I say that? One last talk. It suddenly sounds finite. Not at all what I intended.

  “No . . . ,” I say, and stop. “I thought you were worried about your dad finding out we’re together. Tonight, I mean. Not together, just . . .” Shut up, Max.

  Aggi sighs again. “But you said you wanted to talk. One last time. And I think you’re right. We should.”

  I could kick myself for my choice of words. I didn’t mean one last time, but that’s what I said, and Aggi thinks it’s a good idea now, so I guess I said something right for a change, though she emphasized the words “one last time.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, sliding against the door, adding distance between us. “One. Last. Time.”

  34

  Aggi

  I’M HAVING SERIOUS SECOND THOUGHTS about being here. I should be at the party with Umé. I should be home in bed. One moment Max looks at me like he used to, the next he’s recoiling and plastering his shoulder to the car door, drawing as far away from me as he can. He’s not making sense. And why am I sitting so close to him? Though I refuse to move away.

  We’re on the highway heading back to Walabash Woods. Henry’s and Jen’s voices have lowered, and Jen’s leaning across the console, tracing the back of Henry’s hand with her nails. Max sighs, and I glance over, dropping my hand nonchalantly on the seat. What am I doing? My mind splits in two, but my body is clear on how to respond when Max and I are alone in the back seat. Physically, I pull toward Max, but the closer we get to the lake, the more fear stops me from going the distance.

  Maybe Max blames me like my dad said he did. Maybe Max regrets what happened between us. If we hadn’t fallen in love, my sister, his brother, wouldn’t be dead.

  I fold my hands and bring them to my mouth. The heater blasts on my face, and I slump to the side to avoid the hot air. When I shift my weight, Max glances over and I quickly look out the window. I think I hear him sigh.

  “Can we stop somewhere?” Max asks Henry. “I need some . . . air.”

  35

  Max

  “AIR” IS CODE FOR I need to talk to Henry.

  There are no truck stops, no convenience stores, for miles. Plum Lake Café is ten miles north, and the town we just left is five miles behind us. Henry pulls off onto the nearest private road and parks.

  “Here we go,” Henry says. “Fresh air.”

  I tap Henry on the shoulder and insist he come with me.

  “But it’s cold out there.” I tug at his coat, and he groans. “We’ll be right back,” he says, closing the door.

  We walk along the grated road, stepping over frozen slush the snowplow missed.

  “I’m not standing with you while you piss.” Henry stops near a locked metal gate.

  “I don’t have to piss. I just really needed to talk to you.”

  Henry kicks a chunk of snow and I stuff my hands into my coat pockets. We turn our backs to the headlights. I clear my throat and let my worries fly.

  “Aggi’s dad said he’d kill me if I ever spoke to her again, and here I am. Arms wide. Ready to beckon death. What the hell am I doing?”

  Henry taps his heel on a layer of ice, chipping it into shards. “Who cares what Aggi’s dad said? You still love her, right?”

  The darkness conceals the tears in my eyes when I look at Henry, in the beam of the headlights, and say, “I never stopped.”

  Henry slugs my arm. “So why fight it?”

  “But her dad. My own dad. God, Henry, I’m so scared.”

  Henry spins around and kicks a pile of snow. The breeze blows flakes back in our faces. “Fuck her dad!” Henry shouts. “Fuck everyone who thinks they can run your life and turn it into something they want it to be. You’re in charge of you, Max. Aggi’s dad isn’t yours. He can tell you to stay away from Aggi all he wants, but he can’t force you to do it.” Henry’s boot stomps a second time on the snow.

  “But I’m scared.” I hate how weak my voice sounds.

  Henry wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Me too, buddy. Look at the scary world we live in. But fear has a way of nudging you toward change. And it’s time, Max. Fucking bulldoze through the snow and take back what was stolen from you!”

  36

  Aggi

  WHEN MAX SAID HE NEEDED air, I figured he had to pee, but he’s been been talking to Henry for five minutes and there have been hugs and pats and kicks, and absolutely no peeing.

  “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” Jen asks fiddling with the heater. “Make an excuse to use a restroom, or the great outdoors, so you
can talk to your friend? Fifty bucks says they’re talking about us.”

  I smile but worry about what Max might be saying to Henry. The way Henry kicked that pile of snow has me concerned that Max regrets I’m here.

  Sitting in the car with Jen settles my nerves, though. The way she points out the obvious with confidence and certainty. Maybe when I’m her age and out of my house, I’ll act like that, too.

  Here in the back seat listening as Jen pokes fun at the boys, the music muffled by the heater, I can’t help but think of Kate.

  The morning of the accident, I woke brimming with confusion. As I shuffled into the kitchen, pink fuzzy socks on my feet, I found Kate cooking breakfast for the family. She was wearing headphones and shaking her hips while she scrambled eggs. I watched her for a minute—maybe two—and smiled as she danced without a care. She caught me giggling when she turned around and rattled off: “Beyoncé made me do it!”

  She didn’t ask if I was hungry but pushed a plate of fluffy eggs and potato wedges topped with cheese and chives in front of me. It was my last meal at the table with my sister, but, of course, at that time, I neither knew nor appreciated it. That night, shortly after midnight, Kate would lose control of the car she was driving, spin on the ice, and drive head-on into a tree. Upon impact, Cal’s chest and skull would crush.

  For the next several days, I’d try to duplicate that breakfast by peeling potatoes and soaking them in water. I’d chop spuds into chunks and fry them with bacon. Sprinkle the tops with cheddar and chives and plate them with care. The breakfast was for Kate. The breakfast, a symbol of normalcy. What our life was like before chaos. But once home from the hospital, Kate would refuse to leave her room. She would stop making eye contact, too. If Kate could just take one bite of the eggs, I thought, she’d remember our time in the kitchen, when I confided in her and told her I loved Max and she insisted I tell him how I felt because he loved me, too. That morning before the accident, I had shared with Kate my plans for later that night. How Max and I were going to the science building for a picnic on the roof and how I’d bring music and candles and my big furry blanket. She laughed and said, “You’re overplanning, Aggi.”

  Kate warned me my fantasy might not be as beautiful as I imagined. She said, “Oh, it can be great, but be realistic. It’s your first time. It’s going to feel a hell of a lot better for him than for you. But the second time will improve, and by the third—”

  Kate was right. The first time was more painful than beautiful, but Max was gentle and attentive and everything you want your first to be. There’s never been a second time, as death interrupted.

  First, the missed messages from Kate that night:

  Hey, Ag. Can you talk to Dad? He’s not answering his phone. I need him to pick us up. It’s beginning to snow hard.

  Aggi? Did you get my message? Where are you? I need Dad to pick us up.

  Did you get ahold of Dad? Is he coming?

  We’re not sure if we should drive. Hello?

  I totally forgot you’re with Max! OMG. I hate to interrupt, but it’s sort of an emergency.

  So Cal says we can make it home if we take it slow. We’re going to head out now. Call me when you get this message in case we get stranded in the middle of nowhere. LOL.

  Then the frantic voice mails from Dad:

  Aggi? Where are you? I need you to call me back.

  Aggi? There’s been an accident. Mom and I are at the hospital with Kate. She’s okay, but we need you here. Is Max with you?

  Aggi? Dammit. Where are you? Please hurry, honey!

  “Aggi?” Jen’s mouth moves, but the words don’t register. Her face is soft like Kate’s. Her eyes full of questions. “Visiting other lands?” she asks.

  I nod and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Something like that.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister.” She glances at her folded hands, then back at my face. “Henry told me what happened.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what it’s worth, I lost my dad two years ago in May, and I’d like to say it gets easier, but that would be complete and utter bullshit.” I half smile, and Jen covers my hand with hers. “I’m really glad we met,” she says.

  “Yeah—me too.”

  Cold air blasts as Henry—all smiles—climbs into the driver’s seat and greets Jen with a kiss on the cheek. Max piles into the back seat, his eyes glued to the floorboard, and as he plops down, I hear “Shit.” Max reaches outside the car to retrieve one of the giant shoes he’s been sliding around in all night.

  Five minutes on the road heading to the lake and Max leans over and whispers, “Those girls you saw at my house were not there to make you jealous.”

  I nod slowly. But they did. Seeing Max with someone else made me incredibly jealous. “So—what?” I say, dropping my head against the seat back.

  Max matches my move. Our faces are now inches apart, but confusion and fear prevent our hearts from returning from a million-mile journey. At least that’s how I feel.

  “Why have you spent all these months following me?” I ask. “Is it for the lawsuit? To find shit you can use against me? Help improve your family’s case? Make sure you guys win?”

  Max shoots straight up in his seat.

  “Win? There’s no . . .” Max drops his chin. He opens his mouth, but words don’t form.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you. But for the record, it was for me, not them.”

  Max’s eyes return to the floorboard.

  “Did you ever stop to think that every time I see you, I’m reminded of what we did? If I’d only looked at my phone. One time. Checked my messages. If we hadn’t been together that night.” The tears dump onto my cheeks. My nose runs, and I can’t bring my hand to my face to wipe anything away.

  “They’d be alive,” Max whispers, and scoots closer to me. He slides his hand under mine, and I grab his wrist and squeeze. Electricity shoots up my arm and wraps me in a warm afterglow of heat. “I could have looked at my phone, too,” he says. “Cal called me, and I never checked my phone until it was too late.”

  Max reaches across the seat and wipes my cheeks with his thumb. I won’t let go of his wrist.

  “That’s why I followed you around,” Max says. “I knew how heavy the load was that you carried. I carried one, too. But I wanted to be there in case you needed me.”

  The tears flood my face. Henry glances in the rearview mirror, nods, and turns the music up so Max and I have privacy in the back seat.

  I slide against the door and my head falls against the window, everything on the outside black and blurry, but when I blink, the view clears. Max unbuckles his seat belt and slides into the middle and buckles again. He drapes his arms over my back, and the weight of his body feels light compared to the burdens pushing my insides.

  Kate. The guilt. The blame. My dad.

  Max sweeps my hair across my neck and whispers, “It’s not our fault.”

  If only I believed him.

  Will You Think of Me?

  Lyrics by Kate Frank and Cal Granger

  Will you think of me and the dresses I wore?

  Will you remember my laugh and how I swore?

  The places we used to go

  The people we used to know

  Will you remember flowers in my hair?

  Will you remember how much I cared?

  About the food we ate

  Where we met

  How much we talked when we stayed up late

  Will you think of me when times are tough?

  Will you remember that I was once enough?

  That I loved you and you loved me

  Will you forget or will you think of me?

  37

  Max

  WE CREEP DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO Aggi’s house before turning onto a narrow stretch of road in need of a plow.

  “Cut the lights,” Aggi says as we pass the back side of our property and inch toward the barn.

  Henry pulls the car beside one of the oversized
pine trees that sit on each side of the red-and-white building. We miraculously don’t get stuck thanks to the fresh set of tracks. Someone’s circled the drive within the past few hours.

  “Help me with the doors, man,” I say as Henry and I climb out of the car. Pulling Jen’s car inside the barn will lessen the risk of someone seeing us, or worse.

  Henry cranes his neck, staring back over the road.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, patting his shoulder. “We’re safe here. Private property.” I can’t help but wonder who circled the field in front of the barn, and as I look out over the dark space, I catch Henry following the tracks with his eyes. We make eye contact, but neither mentions the mystery. We don’t have to. We’re both thinking the same thing. The twins have been here.

  Henry pulls Jen’s car inside, and Aggi retrieves a bundle of blankets from crates stacked on the side of the barn. After Henry and I latch the front doors, open the back, and start a fire in the pit, we’re all feeling at ease. In fact, Henry and Jen have become so comfortable that it’s making Aggi and me fidget. All their sighs and lip smacks.

  Aggi’s sitting on a blanket, running her hand across the wool, and I can’t help but wish I were lying beside her. She catches my gaze, and we smile. Henry makes a rather disturbing sound, something like a moan, and Aggi’s eyes widen.

  “Want to go for a walk?” she whispers, and I jump to my feet.

  We circle around the back of the barn, wandering into the dark field. Light from the fire pit flickers as we stroll, or in my case, slide—thanks to Henry’s big-ass shoes—toward the trees, but once we reach the woods, the snow clears and darkness consumes us. Finally, we are completely alone.

  I turn to Aggi. “I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about your sister. I never got to tell you . . . I tried, but . . .”

  Aggi looks up at me with her big, beautiful eyes, and I feel now is the time to explain everything to her. Why I brought girls to my house though I knew she was watching me. How I thought our relationship was over and Aggi didn’t care about us anymore. How I was broken on the inside and out, and the distraction of a girl at my house made me temporarily forget why I felt so broken. For a moment, I felt whole. I forgot the worry of Aggi hating me as much as her dad did. Does.